


celebrate you, baby

by wolfsupremacist



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Deepthroating, Frottage, M/M, Praise Kink, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 16:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18034889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsupremacist/pseuds/wolfsupremacist
Summary: Maybe that’s why they work so well together, Taeyong thinks. Taeil, with so much to give, and Taeyong, so eager to take.





	celebrate you, baby

His mouth is so dry, and also it’s a little hard to walk. 

Taeyong’s never been good at drinking. 

“You’re not even _not good_ at drinking,” Johnny says, gently rearranging Taeyong’s arm slung over his shoulder. “You’re so _not good_ at drinking that it would be too generous to call it _not good_. So generous it becomes a lie. You want the truth? You are abysmal at drinking.” 

“Abysmal,” Taeyong says with a smile, testing out the syllables in his mouth. He looks around, sees all the lights of the city. “Oh, pretty.” He points. “Look.” 

“I see,” Johnny says, even though he isn’t looking. “Okay, quiet now.” Taeyong drunkenly zips his lips shut before giggling loudly. Johnny rolls his eyes. “God, you’re stupid.” 

“And cute, right?” Taeyong asks. “Aren’t I cute?” 

“Sure, bud,” Johnny says, hauling him off to the cab. “Sure.”  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
Painful light streams through curtains like one million angry knives, and they stab him directly in the skull.

“Stop groaning,” Johnny says. And he turns over in bed to stare at Taeyong. “Did you drink _any_ water last night?” 

“No,” Taeyong pouts. 

“You reap what you sow.” 

Taeyong sits up, eyes bleary, and he rubs the sleep from them, feeling like maybe it would just be easier to die than live with a hangover. He looks at his bedside table, happy to find that his phone has been charged and that there’s a full water bottle next to it. He smiles to himself, grabs the bottle, and takes a grateful sip. 

“Ew,” Johnny laughs. “Stop moaning.” 

“Shut up,” Taeyong says. “Look how smart I was, though.” He gestures next to him proudly. “Phone and water.” 

“Moron,” Johnny laughs. “God, you were really drunk, huh?” 

“A little,” he shrugs. 

Johnny stands up from bed, stretches. Taeyong takes another sip of water, swishing the gross taste out of his mouth before swallowing and groaning again. His fucking _head_. He’s never drinking again, not in his whole life. 

“Taeil came in after you were passed out. Taking care of you, doing all that Dad shit.” Johnny throws a shirt on, ruffles his hair. “He came home first, and he _still_ had to deal with shit. You should say thank you.” 

“Oh,” Taeyong says. “Yeah, I—I will.” 

“Kay,” Johnny says. “God, I can’t look at you deep throat that bottle anymore. I’m gonna go get Starbys with Mark. You want anything?” 

But he doesn’t even wait to hear Taeyong’s answer. 

Luckily, he’s an expert now in this kind of translation: it’s Johnny for _get your shit together, Lee Taeyong._

And that’s fine by him: Taeyong is ready to hydrate, to brush his teeth, to shower, and to put the night before behind him.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
He can’t remember exactly the first time he got drunk because forgetting shit when he drinks is kind of his calling card. He knows his faults, and chief among them is his drinking: once he gets started, he can’t seem to stop until it’s too late.

Taeyong’s figured out, through the investigative journalism of key eyewitnesses, that he has three phases of drunkenness. Stage One, the most comfortable stage, is called Cling. 

_“C’mere,” he says, pulling Jungwoo into his embrace. “Ah, look at our little Jungwoo-ah. So grown up now.”_

_“Hyung,” Jungwoo says, smiling, trying to push Taeyong off him._

_They’ve got a table, and Taeyong’s had three shots, a fourth poured for him. But to be honest, he’s busy touching Jungwoo, whose face is so soft and cute. Taeyong kisses him on the cheek, and Jungwoo laughs loudly. Taeyong laughs, spurred on by Jungwoo, by the rest of the table staring at them._

_“What?” Taeyong says. “Hyung just loves you.”_

_“I know, I love you too,” Jungwoo says. “But let’s just—”_

_Jungwoo tactically disengages, stealthy and too quick for Taeyong. He gets up, goes to sit next to Jaehyun, the seat magically empty, because—_

_“Hey,” Taeil says, sitting down next to Taeyong_

_“Hyung,” Taeyong says happily. “You moved.”_

_“Yep,” Taeil says. “Sorry to take Jungwoo away from you.”_

_“No,” Taeyong says, and he pulls Taeil’s arm over, hugs it. “I love you. I love you a lot. Stay right here, okay?”_

_“Yeah,” Taeil says. “I will. I’ll stay.”_

_Taeyong can’t even hear the laughter anymore, not when he lays his head on Taeil’s shoulder, not when he’s feeling so good._  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
Stage Two, the most embarrassing stage, is called Beg.

_The shot count is at six, and he’s desperate for something. For anything._

_They’re all still high off the concert, the adrenaline still sitting on them like sweat before being wiped clean. Taeyong shuts his eyes, a bit sleepy, but_ no _, he thinks,_ I need something. __

_He lays his head on Yuta’s shoulder._

_“Yuta,” Taeyong whines. “Praise me. Tell me I’m cute.”_

_Yuta looks down at him, smiles bright and gummy._

_“You’re so cute,” Yuta says._

_“Ah,” Taeyong says, a blush creeping to his face as he buries his face in the fabric of Yuta’s shirt. “More, please.”_

_“_ So _cute,” Yuta says, and he runs his fingers through Taeyong’s hair. “Pretty.”_

_Taeyong closes his eyes again, this time content. He just wants to hear—wants to hear that he did a good job, wants to hear that he’s a good boy, that he’s pretty and good. He doesn’t know how long it is before Yuta’s voice splits the room again, he just knows that it’s what jars him._

_“Sorry, hyung.”_

_Taeyong opens his eyes at the sound. Taeil is standing over them, looking down at him. He looks tall this way, really tall and really beautiful. He’s always beautiful, clear and soft skin, bright eyes, a charming smile. Taeyong would like to see that smile. Could he make that happen? Taeyong smiles up at him, just to see._

_“Hi,” Taeyong says. “Did I do good?”_

_A smile melts onto Taeil’s face the way ice cream melts and drips in heat._

_“Really good,” Taeil says. He sits on the opposite side of Taeyong, and Taeyong shifts, lays his head on Taeil’s shoulder. “So cute.”_

_Taeyong smiles brightly, so big that his eyes squeeze shut. Taeil pets through his hair, whispers praise to him. It’s so perfect that Taeyong doesn’t even notice when Yuta gets up to leave._  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
And Stage Three, the most sleepy stage, is aptly named Sleep.

_It’s his birthday. Technically, it isn’t his birthday any longer. He laughs to himself, trying to remember how he got here. Too many people pouring drinks for him. The lights. The music. The food. The singing long gone off-key thanks to the soju. He crashes into bed after far too many shots, and the covers are pulled up around him. He hums, licks his lips._

_“Hyung, come to bed,” Taeyong says, holds the covers open._

_Taeyong opens his eyes when there’s no response. Taeyong stares up at him, the way his hair falls into his face. The curve of his mouth. He tucks Taeyong back into bed, and Taeyong cuddles into the blankets._

_“There’s water,” he says. “If you get thirsty.”_

_“Thank you,” Taeyong says, face mashed into the pillow._

_“Call me if you need anything,” he says._

_“I will,” Taeyong says. “Thanks, hyung.”_

_“Sweet dreams,” he says, shutting off the lights. “Happy birthday.” And the door shuts behind him softly._  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
Taeyong rarely drinks, because if he enters Stage One, he’s bound to make it all the way to Stage Three.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
He scrubs his hair dry, slides his feet into his slippers, and pads out of his bedroom. Things are still quiet. On mornings after they all drink together, Johnny’s one of the early risers. Johnny and—

Taeyong steps into the kitchen, and Taeil is there, back to him. He’s pulling off his jacket, setting a bag onto the island. Taeyong watches him, the careful way he does everything. It’s pretty, and he stares longer than he should, judging by the way Taeil turns and jumps back with a shocked noise, staring at Taeyong with wide eyes.

“Oh,” Taeil says. “Sorry, I…” 

“No, I’m sorry,” Taeyong says, shaking his head. “Brain’s not working yet.” 

Taeil smiles, walks over. He pets through Taeyong’s hair, and Taeyong tries his best not to arch into the touch. He succeeds, ultimately, but only barely. 

“Did you sleep well?” Taeil asks. 

“I slept like shit,” Taeyong laughs. “But, um...Johnny told me you came in and took care of me. Thank you. And, uh, I’m sorry.”

Taeil’s eyes scan across Taeyong’s face, and it’s a weird feeling, being studied. Taeyong shies away from it a bit, looks down to the floor. 

“Don’t apologize to me.” Taeyong looks up, meets Taeil’s eyes. “I don’t mind taking care of you.” 

“I know it’s annoying,” Taeyong says, and he looks away. “I’m not ever gonna drink again.” 

“What are you talking about?” Taeil says. “Why not?” 

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows how I get.” 

Taeil walks away, and Taeyong follows, and they stand on opposite sides of the island. Taeil pulls containers from his bag, rice and soup. He crushes the plastic bag up in his hands like a baseball, throws it into the cabinet under the sink, before moving the containers back to the bigger inlaid counter. 

Taeyong absently touches his stomach. He could go for some soup right about now. Taeil wheels around, grabs four bowls from the cabinets. He puts them on the counter, back turned to Taeyong again. But then… 

“You drank more than usual. You don’t remember last night, do you?” Taeil asks, and his eyes have stars in them, millions or more.

“Not...not really,” Taeyong says. “I’m sorry, did I...did I do something weird?” 

Taeil smiles, good-natured as always. Something strange pulls inside Taeyong’s stomach, but he swallows over it enough to smile back. 

“No,” he says. “You were fine, I was just—just checking, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Taeyong says, smiling, “good.” 

“Yeah.” Taeil turns again, starts fiddling with his bowls, doling out portions. “I went and got haejangguk.” Taeyong makes a pleased noise. “Do you want some?” 

“I don’t want...,” Taeyong starts, absently biting his nails, “I mean, it’s cool, I’ll—”

“There’s enough, I just...I thought it would be good for everyone’s stomachs,” Taeil turns. “And there’s yogurt in the refrigerator. And some of that melon we cut up yesterday. You wanna grab it?” 

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, and he crosses to the fridge, grabs the bowl of fruit, two yogurts. He moves back, sees Taeil moving two bowls of the soup, two bowls of the rice to the counter in shifts. It’s vaguely domestic, the way they move around each other, grabbing spoons and chopsticks. Setting places, just for two.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
“Shit,” Taeyong says, fingers brushing against the glass. “I shouldn’t.”

They’re out to dinner, maybe a week, maybe two weeks after. Taeyong doesn’t have time to keep track, but he’s kept his promise. He hasn’t drank since. Still, when Taeil pours for him, the berry-red of the wine steadily rising in his glass, Taeyong hesitates. 

“Why not?” Johnny says. “Indulge.” 

“I’m gonna get stupid,” Taeyong says. 

“You know Taeil-hyung likes it,” Donghyuck teases. “He likes when you’re all soft and cute.” 

Taeyong feels heat rise to his face at the suggestion, and he puts his palms on his cheeks, tries to cool himself down. Taeyong half-expects Taeil not to say anything, let the little comment go. But Taeil always tells the truth, always says exactly how he feels. 

“I do,” Taeil admits. “That’s why I think you should drink exactly as much as you want.” 

“But I’m annoying,” Taeyong sputters. “I’m—” 

“You’re _cute_ ,” Doyoung says. “Everyone thinks so, so stop fishing for compliments.” 

But the drinking makes that part of him worse, longing and useless, an insatiable desire to please others and then be praised for it. 

“Let him fish,” Johnny says, and he pushes Doyoung on the shoulder. “Taeil-hyung likes that too.” 

Taeyong looks up, sees Taeil hiding a smile. Has he hid other things, Taeyong wonders. Has he been doing that all along? 

Taeyong grabs the glass of wine, and he sips at it. The taste is complex, interesting. The small bitterness of the tannins only serve to reinforce the sweetness, the burst of fruit and then, of flowers. Taeil looks up, looks at him, and Taeyong swallows. Taeil’s eyes slide down his throat so slowly that Taeyong can almost feel it, the touch of his fingers. 

Taeil is sweet like wine, like cherries and chocolate, but it’s then that Taeyong realizes there’s always something else underneath. Unfolding like the petals of a rose.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
From then on, Taeyong decides to let himself drink.

He doesn’t overdo it anymore, like he did that one night, because Taeil is always there to cut him off, ply him with water and food to soak up the alcohol. It’s calming, knowing there’s someone looking out for him, someone there for him, someone to clean up his messes. Someone to indulge him. 

“You sounded really good today,” Taeil says, and he hooks his ankle around Taeyong’s under the table. “ _Really_ good.” 

Taeyong blushes, covers his mouth with a hand. “You always sound good, hyung.” 

Taeil looks down, lets his foot move against the back of Taeyong’s leg. “Thank you.” He grabs Taeyong’s hand over the table, laces their fingers together. “You’re so good. So talented.” 

Taeyong whines a little, collapses under the affection, because no one knows how to do it like Taeil does. It’s like tidal waves, one after another, and they keep crashing on Taeyong’s shores. 

“Too much?” Taeil asks. 

Taeyong’s forehead is resting on the tabletop when he shakes his head _no_. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. 

Maybe that’s why they work so well together, Taeyong thinks. Taeil, with so much to give, and Taeyong, so eager to take.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
Johnny orders too much food for movie nights, and where there’s food, there’s always alcohol to follow.

Mark got mad that no one had seen the Captain America trilogy, so they’re wasting the night, one of Taeyong’s favorite things to do. They cram themselves into the living room, some squeezed onto the couch, some sitting on the floor with pillows underneath them or held to their chests. The coffee table is littered with empty beer cans, crushed and crinkled, half-full bottles of cheap fruit-flavored soju, and takeout food containers that smell like grease and salt.

Taeyong sits between Taeil’s split legs, head lolling back onto one of Taeil’s thighs, on his way from Stage One to Stage Two. Something is going on between Captain America and the Winter Soldier, some sort of battle, but Taeyong couldn’t care less. He looks up at Taeil as Taeil rubs his shoulders. 

“You’re getting so strong,” Taeil says quietly, trying not to be heard, and it works, Taeyong thinks. 

It’s a guarantee when they’re all together that they’ll work themselves into a dull roar, laughter and yelling and the like making a thick wall of sound. 

Taeil runs his palms along Taeyong’s shoulders, up and down the base of his neck when Taeyong sits up a bit to allow him access. He uses his thumbs, presses into the muscle of Taeyong’s back, and Taeyong moans brokenly. 

“Is that good?” Taeil asks. “Does it feel good?” 

“Yes,” Taeyong says. “More, please.” 

Taeil gives Taeyong more, cupping his hands and digging his fingers into tense flesh. “Look at you. Working so hard. Always doing everything for everyone else. Being so good for everyone. So pretty, aren’t you? So good.” 

Taeyong’s head falls back again, and Taeil starts to trace lines up Taeyong’s neck. It tickles, and Taeyong shivers. Suddenly, it’s one thousand degrees, or hotter still. Taeyong can feel electricity on his skin, Taeil stares down at him, and Taeyong— 

“Hey,” Mark jeers. “Get a room.” 

Taeil jumps back, and Taeyong, there’s a feeling welling in his stomach, right at his core. He looks down, and he’s—oh my god, he thinks. _Oh my god._

“Shut up,” Johnny says. “You’re just jealous.” 

“ _Jealous_?” Mark squawks, scrambling up to punch Johnny in the shoulder. “You wanna fight? Huh? You wanna fight?” 

“Don’t start,” Doyoung says. “You know how this story ends.” 

“I’ll fuck all you up!” Mark says, flailing his limbs awkwardly. “Which hyung wants a piece first, huh?” 

Taeyong quickly gets to his feet amidst the chaos, surreptitiously pulling his sweatshirt down as far as it will go. He exits the room without a look back at Taeil, knowing it would only serve to worsen his problem. 

Shutting the bathroom door behind him, he nudges his sweatshirt up, shucking his sweatpants down. He pulls his cock out after pushing his underwear down to his thighs. He lets saliva pool in his mouth before he spits in his hand, dragging the hem of his sweatshirt up between his teeth. He feels like he’s fucking floating when he runs his touch over the wet head of his dick, spreading the precome around. He bites the fabric hard, and it goes wet in his mouth as he moans. 

Slowly, he runs his spit-slick fist down over the head, fucking through his hand. His body jolts at the touch, and he has no fucking idea what he’s doing, but it feels too good to stop. He thinks about Taeil’s hands on him, the way Taeil’s mouth moves. Taeyong strokes himself faster, pumping his hips in time with his hand, and he thinks about Taeil’s body under his, over his. Thinks about Taeil pushing him down, thinks about Taeil grinding against him. Thinks about Taeil whispering _good boy_ in his ear, his hand on Taeyong’s cock. 

Pleasure drenches him, and he stands in the storm of it as he spills out into his hand, the wet fabric in his mouth the only thing stopping him from calling out Taeil’s name, his arousal slamming to its thundering, trembling apex. 

The sweatshirt falls back to his body, and the realization of what he’s just done is as immediate as it is shameful. Hastily, he rids himself of as much evidence as he can, wiping up his come into tissue and flushing it before washing his hands too vigorously. 

A knock on the door scares him so badly that he yelps, shutting off the faucet quickly like he’s been caught. 

“Taeyongie?” _Fuck._

“Yes?” Taeyong answers. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“I’m...I’m just not feeling well,” Taeyong lies. 

“Did you drink too much?” Taeil asks. 

“My—I think my stomach just hurts,” Taeyong says. “I’m gonna go to bed.” 

Silence, and Taeyong shifts from foot to foot as he waits for Taeil’s response. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Taeyong steps forward. Leans his forehead against the door.

“I will,” Taeyong lies. 

And it is a lie, he realizes, a big one. He promises himself he’ll stop, that he’ll put a little distance between them from now on. Taeyong can’t ask for what he wants because what he wants, what he wants with all his fucking heart, is Taeil.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
It’s not easy, of course. They’ve got schedules together, they’ve got shit to do together. And the sudden epiphany of his feelings, both sexual and romantic in nature, certainly doesn’t help matters. Sometimes, it feels like it’s the only thing Taeyong can think about: the little things about Taeil that he likes. The jingling song of his laugh. The way he picks up choreo slow at first and then faster than anyone once he gets his footing. The way charisma pours off him when he’s singing.

“Can you focus?” Jaehyun laughs. “You’re in another universe today.” 

They’re on break, some refilling their water bottles, some running to the bathroom. Jaehyun corners him, pulls him off to the side. Jungwoo and Taeil watch them from across the room, leaning against each other. A little flame of jealousy flares in Taeyong’s stomach, and he dutifully ignores it. That’s just how they are. 

“Sorry,” Taeyong says. “Just, uh, just not feeling good.” 

“Are you sure?” Jaehyun asks. He pokes Taeyong in the cheek. “You still look handsome.” 

“Shut up,” Taeyong says, rolling his eyes. 

“If you need to talk or whatever,” Jaehyun says, patting Taeyong on the shoulder comfortingly, “ask Taeil. Or Johnny!” 

Taeyong shoves Jaehyun away, walks over to his water bottle. “You’re such an asshole. By the way, if you wanna criticize someone, maybe get the chorus down before you start pointing fingers.” 

“I _got_ the chorus down,” Jaehyun boasts. “I _own_ this chorus.” 

“You own an overblown sense of self-worth,” Doyoung says. 

“You own a pair of socks specifically for masturbation,” Yuta says. 

“You own my heart!” Jungwoo chimes, and he bats his eyelashes at Jaehyun. 

Laughter rings out through the practice room, and Taeyong smiles, annoyed at himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about Taeil during rehearsal. Talking to Taeil. Making him laugh the way he laughs at Jungwoo. Taeil touching him again. Touching Taeil in turn.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
Taeyong works with what he’s got. He tries not to get in Taeil’s way. Responds with the bare minimum to questions and interactions. It probably hurts him more than it hurts Taeil, Taeyong reasons. Taeil’s just overly affable, wants to take care of everyone and make sure everyone’s happy, and Taeyong is not special in that regard. He convinces himself that he’s misread friendliness as romantic interest, and he convinces himself to get a handle on his emotions.

The problem is, of course, that Taeyong really likes Taeil. Not just in the confusing way. But...just as a friend, too. 

“Why are you so miserable?” Johnny asks. 

Taeyong turns, so that instead of lying face down into his pillow, thinking about the great existential dread swallowing him up, he’s looking at Johnny playing his Switch while thinking about the great existential dread swallowing him up. 

“I’m not miserable,” Taeyong says. 

“Right. You’re super happy, and I’m in EXO,” Johnny says. 

“Almost,” Taeyong says. “You’ll get in next lifetime.” 

Johnny lowers his game for a moment, glares at Taeyong. Something is seriously wrong, Taeyong thinks, because not even making fun of Johnny is helping relieve him of aforementioned existential dread. 

“Seriously,” Johnny says, kicking one leg over the other as he looks back to the little screen, “fuck is up with you?” 

“I’m fine,” Taeyong says. 

“Are we gonna keep doing this?” He stands, not taking his eyes off his game. “Should I call Taeil in?” 

Taeyong launches himself up and out of bed so fast he gets lightheaded. “No!” He then understands how fucking ridiculous and telling that was, so he sits, folds his hands. “I mean, no, it’s fine.” 

Johnny sparkles like he’s gotten to the bottom of a mystery, pressing a button on the game before throwing it to the bed. “Tell daddy what’s wrong.” He sits opposite Taeyong, folds his hands together carefully. 

“Don’t...don’t call yourself that,” Taeyong grimaces. 

“What’s going on with you two?” Johnny says. “And no bullshit.” 

“Nothing’s going on.” 

“What did I just say about bullshit?” 

Taeyong huffs, lies back in bed, covering his face with his hands. “I dunno. I think I’m—” Taeyong can’t bear to say it aloud, especially not to someone as earnest as Johnny. “I think we’re fighting.” 

“Oh no,” Johnny says. “That sucks. What are you fighting about?” 

“I dunno.” 

“Ah,” Johnny says knowingly. “Those are the worst kinds of fights. Well, it’ll be over soon.” 

Taeyong shoots a look over at Johnny. “What makes you say that?” 

“It’s you and Taeil,” Johnny shrugs. “You guys love each other.” Taeyong scoffs. “I’m serious. You guys hold everything together. I think if you actually started fighting for real, shit would just be haywire always.” 

“Yeah?” Taeyong smiles. “Like how?” 

“Mark and Hyuckie would kill each other, for one,” Johnny smiles back. 

“Can’t have that,” Taeyong says. 

“No,” Johnny says, picking up his Switch again. “So, like, get your shit together, Lee Taeyong.” 

It’s not like Johnny to spell it out for him like that which means the circumstances must be dire. 

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “I will.”  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
When they go out for noraebang, Taeyong decides enough is enough. He’s tired of feeling sad. Even if it hurts later, Taeyong reasons, that’s no excuse to avoid it entirely.

They get one of the big rooms, all of them plus a couple random guys Taeyong’s sure he’s met before on occasion or two. Yuta sings Likey, and Taeyong looks over, sees Taeil dancing along. It is so fucking cute that Taeyong can’t stand it. He’s just drunk enough to let his body and not his brain guide him over, all the way over, before he sits directly in Taeil’s lap. 

Taeyong can _feel_ the breath shocked out of him. And what a good feeling that is. 

“H-hi,” Taeil says. “I thought you were mad at me.” 

“No,” Taeyong says. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Taeil says. “It’s okay.” 

Taeyong looks at him, looks in his eyes. Ocean colored with the lights. 

“You always say that,” Taeyong says, and he winds his arms around Taeil’s neck. “ _Don’t apologize._ ” 

“Because you have nothing to apologize for.” 

It steals the fight from Taeyong, all the brazenness he came over with. 

“Are we okay?” Taeyong asks. 

“We’re always okay,” Taeil says. “As long as you’re okay.” 

“I’m okay,” Taeyong says. He lays his head on Taeil’s shoulder. Blows on Taeil’s ear just to see him shiver. “Are you okay?” 

Taeil huffs, arm at Taeyong’s waist. 

“I wish you’d rely on me more,” Taeil says, and it sounds like a secret. 

“I can’t,” Taeyong says. 

“Why not?” 

Taeyong looks up at him. Blue and purple light is painting Taeil’s face, the brushstrokes leaving him laid bare. He looks...he looks scared. Taeyong wants to erase that, smudge the sadness and fear until it’s so blurry, you can’t even tell it’s there. 

Taeil wears a lot on his sleeve, his heart and more. Taeyong—Taeyong never knows what to do with that. Only knows what he _wants_ to do. 

“I already rely on you too much,” Taeyong says quietly. 

Taeil looks at him for a very long time, and Taeyong has the stupid thought that, with the colored light and the soft ballad shifting under their feet, it would be so nice to kiss Taeil. To kiss him and hold him and maybe fall asleep wrapped in him. 

“No such thing as too much,” Taeil whispers back. 

And Taeyong wishes, hopes that it’s true.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
Hotel room pairings always change. Taeyong fears that most of all.

When Taeil and he are finally put together, he prays to every god and makes up a few as he goes: _don’t let me embarrass myself_ , he thinks. _Don’t let me do anything to make him hate me._

“You want the bed closest to the bathroom?” Taeyong asks. 

“Yeah,” Taeil smiles. “Thanks.” 

They unpack their things in silence, and occasionally, Taeyong looks over to watch as Taeil makes sure his clothes are folded properly. It satisfies a weird part of Taeyong to see it, so he looks away, bites across a smile. 

“Everyone’s going down to the restaurant,” Taeil mentions. “Are you gonna go?” 

“I dunno,” Taeyong says. “I was thinking about maybe just...staying in.” 

“Okay,” Taeil says. “Then I’ll stay too.” 

“No, if you were planning on going, I’ll—” Taeyong starts, turning as he unpacks his skincare. But it’s the wrong move. 

Taeil is stripping off his shirt, pulling it over his head, and Taeyong can’t do anything but stare, mouth hung slightly open at the sight. 

“You wanna go?” Taeil asks, not even registering Taeyong’s frankly shameful reaction. He’s absently rummaging through the items still left in his suitcase. He pops his head up. “Taeyong?” 

_Oh. Right._

“Yeah,” Taeyong says hurriedly. “Let’s go.” 

“You think anyone will care if I go in sweats?” Taeil slaps the elastic band of his pants at his waist, and Taeyong swallows thickly. 

“No,” Taeyong says, eternally thankful when Taeil throws a sweatshirt over his head. “No, that’s fine, I think.”  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want any?” Jaehyun asks at dinner, offering Taeyong his glass. “Just a sip?”

“No, thanks,” Taeyong says. 

“You back to this?” Johnny smirks. “Sober leader?” 

“Shut up,” Taeyong says. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Johnny says, and he punches Taeil in the shoulder. “Hyung will still tell you you’re pretty, no matter what. Right?” 

Taeyong looks, seeks to make eye contact. But Taeil looks away. Taeyong ignores it. If he doesn’t ignore it, it’ll hurt worse than anything, so Taeyong ignores it.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
Whatever freeze ran through Taeil when they were abroad, it doesn’t settle at all when they get home. Taeyong starts to worry, the way Taeil avoids him. Is this what it felt like, Taeyong wonders. Is this him getting a taste of his own medicine? It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

Everyone is so busy, running from interview to practice to studio and back, and the dorm feels like a revolving door. He barely sees Taeil for a while, and that’s good, honestly, that’s better, Taeyong thinks. If they don’t get a chance to be around each other, he can’t wallow when Taeil ignores him.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
Taeyong comes back from a schedule to an empty dorm. Empty, of course, save for one.

“Oh,” Taeil says. “Hey, I thought you were—” 

“Got finished early,” Taeyong says. 

“Right,” Taeil says, twisting his fingers. “Everyone’s out, if you wanna join them.” 

“I’m tired,” Taeyong says. 

“Right.” 

It’s awkward. The tense energy between them is pulled taut like a rope. And Taeyong wants to slice through it cleanly. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” he offers. 

“S-sure,” Taeil says. 

Taeyong walks to the living room, searches for something without much thought. Taeil joins him on the couch, and there’s distance between them when he finally sits back, staring at the screen. 

It’s quiet, unbearably so, and Taeyong doesn’t wanna be the first one to speak, but he has to do something. Can’t just _sit there_. 

“Are we okay?” Taeyong wonders aloud. 

Taeil moves, a jerky little motion as he huffs, and Taeyong watches through his peripherals. 

“I dunno,” Taeil says. 

That gives Taeyong pause. “If you’re mad, if I did something to upset you, please, just...please tell me.” Taeyong twists his fingers in his lap, only barely biting back the urge to chew on his nails. “I don’t—I don’t want us to be fighting.” 

“We’re okay,” Taeil says. “I’m just...I’m just being weird.” 

“You’re not being weird,” Taeyong says. “If I did something bad, it’s my fault.” 

“You didn’t do anything,” Taeil says, stone-faced, and he flicks his eyes over to Taeyong before flicking them back to the television. “Watch the movie.” 

Taeyong obeys him for as long as he can, but it’s only a couple minutes before he scooches closer to Taeil, looks at him. 

“What?” 

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Taeyong says. 

Taeil turns, and the movie goes forgotten in the background. He leans in, so close. And Taeyong inhales sharply. 

“That night,” Taeil says, and his lips are so close to Taeyong’s, Taeyong can smell the mint on his tongue. “When you blacked out. When Johnny took you back.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You came into my room. Everyone was still out, and you...,” Taeil starts, licking across his lips, leaving them wet, glossy in the light. “You came into my bed.” 

It freezes through Taeyong slow, crystallizing like snowflakes up his sides and into his chest. His heart is in his mouth, and he’s so fucking worried that with one word, he’s gonna spit it out, accidentally tell Taeil everything. 

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says. “I—I’m…” 

 

Taeil reaches forward, brushes the hair out of Taeyong’s face. He tucks it behind Taeyong’s ear, fingers brushing along the shell as he goes. 

“Don’t apologize to me,” Taeil says. “That’s gonna make me think you regret it.” 

_Regret what_ , Taeyong thinks for a moment. But he’s not an idiot even though he sometimes plays at one. He can solve for x. 

His voice is just barely a whisper when he finally speaks. “Did I kiss you?” he wonders, but he already knows the answer. Already knows he did, just by the way Taeil breathes in, reaches out to take Taeyong’s hand in his. “I kissed you?” 

“Yeah,” Taeil says, smiling. “You kissed me. And at first, I didn’t know if you forgot. Like, maybe I dreamed it. I couldn’t even...I couldn’t even let myself dream that you liked me the way I liked you. And then...all this shit, the—”, he scrubs a hand through his hair, shaking his head, “the skinship and the hugging and everything. I couldn’t help but think _maybe he likes me. Maybe he does._ ” 

“Oh my god,” Taeyong says, mind going a mile a minute. “Oh my god, I’m—”

“But then I thought _maybe I’m annoying him_ ,” Taeil says, staring down at his hands, and it breaks Taeyong’s heart. “I thought maybe I was overstepping. Taking up too much room.” 

“No,” Taeyong says. “Never.” 

Taeil looks up at Taeyong through dark eyelashes. 

“I was trying to pull back recently,” Taeil confesses. “I was getting too...too attached to the idea of us.” 

Taeyong’s heart leaps, and he can practically feel the blood moving through him. 

“I thought you’d make a move,” Taeil says. “I was...I was being as obvious as I could get, and I thought, if he wants something, he would make a move. If it wasn’t a mistake, he’d make a move. If he really wanted to kiss me—” 

“I want to kiss you,” Taeyong interrupts. “I want to redeem myself. For the first time.” 

Taeil’s smile is like dawn. 

“You know what?” 

Taeyong can barely keep himself still, the adrenaline of this new, realized love surging through him. He feels his hand shake in Taeil’s, and he smiles back. “What?” 

“It was good, but I think we can do better.” 

With that, he pulls Taeyong’s hand, the slip of space between them closed as their bodies touch. He slides an arm around Taeyong’s back, lets go of Taeyong’s hand to cup his cheek as he leans in and in and— 

Their lips touch, warm and sweet, and Taeyong sighs into it, goes a little limp. His fingers clutch at the hem of Taeil’s shirt, and it sinks in: he’s kissing Taeil. He _kissed_ Taeil, drunk and stupid. And it didn’t bother Taeil. Just made Taeil like him more. 

Because that’s what they are, an echoing voice for each other: _you work so hard to be better, to be more, but you’re perfect as you are_. 

Taeil opens his mouth against Taeyong’s, and Taeyong matches him, lets Taeil lick into his mouth and hesitantly moves to meet him. They groan as their tongues touch, the sound reverberating as they kiss, the heat coursing through them the way electricity zips up and down the tallest trees in a storm. 

The way they move, like they don’t need any practice at all, it makes Taeyong moan. Taeyong thought he knew Taeil inside and out, every little thing, and now, maybe he does. He knows the way Taeil flicks his tongue, knows the way he strokes fingers down Taeyong’s face, slides his hand just under Taeyong’s shirt to touch the skin of Taeyong’s lower back. 

It’s too much. It’s—it’s everything. 

Taeyong gasps, the warmth of Taeil’s hand flat against the small of his back. Taeyong arches, pushes into it. He cups Taeil’s face in his hands, kisses him harder and harder, tries to tell him everything with just that. 

They only break their kiss to navigate through the empty dorms, and Taeyong pulls him to his room. He grins back at Taeil as he drags him off, the door shut and locked behind them. 

But Taeil is the one to press Taeyong against the door by the shoulders, makes him tilt his head to the side to give him room to work. 

Taeil licks along the slope of his neck, greedy for the noises that fall thoughtlessly from Taeyong’s mouth when Taeil kisses and sucks at his neck. He smiles against Taeyong’s skin, hands on his hips, and he grinds them against each other. 

“Taeil,” Taeil moans. “T-Taeil, fuck.” 

“It’s weird hearing you curse like that,” Taeil says, moving, leaving chaste kisses up the hollow of Taeyong’s throat. “I like it.” 

“S-Stop,” Taeyong says, and he reaches down, presses against his erection just to give himself some relief. “I’m so—” 

“You’re so hot,” Taeil says, and Taeyong gasps, rests his forehead on Taeil’s shoulder. “You are. God, Taeyong, you’re so...you’re so beautiful.” 

It’s embarrassing to be so hot just from this, but neither of them can ignore the way they press into each other, hard and desperate. 

“When you’re drunk, you love to be praised,” Taeil whispers. “Does that count when you’re sober too?” 

Taeyong shivers, one great tense of his body radiating out. 

“I don’t know,” Taeyong lies. 

“Yes, you do,” Taeil says, always calling him out on his shit. “If you like it, you have to tell me.” 

Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut as Taeil slides to his knees, pulling at Taeyong’s button and zipper as he goes. When wet heat engulfs him, his eyes spring open, and he nearly comes at the sight of Taeil, mouth open around him, eyes softly closed. His cheeks are dusted pink, and Taeyong reaches out to touch his cheek, stroke down his face. 

Taeil’s eyes open slow as he takes more of Taeyong into his mouth, and Taeyong stares down at him, unable to look away. His mouth falls open on a moan, and Taeil’s tongue moves, shocking a whimper out of him. 

He pulls off for a moment, strokes the length of Taeyong’s cock as he dips down to lick at his balls and just behind, and _God_ , Taeyong fights back, pushes back against the door as he tries to wriggle away. 

“Where are you going?” Taeil asks with a smile, licking Taeyong’s dick from base to tip before sucking wetly at the head. 

“You’re—,” Taeyong says stupidly. “You’re…” 

“Is it good?” Taeil asks, and he sticks his tongue out flat, gently taps the head of Taeyong’s cock against it. 

Taeyong throws his head back and groans lowly, the image, the sound, the feeling...it’s all a bit too much. He digs his fingernails into his thighs, curls his toes. 

“Good boys answer,” Taeil says, hand working. “Are you a good boy?” 

Taeyong nods sharply. 

“My good boy?” 

Taeyong huffs as he continues to nod. 

“Use your words, baby,” Taeil says, and the pet name, it zips through Taeyong’s body. 

“I’m your good boy,” Taeyong says, and the slight humiliation of it is masked ten times over by the pleasant settling of warmth in his stomach. “I wanna be your good boy.” 

“You are,” Taeil says. “You’re always so good for me. Will you follow directions?” 

“Yes,” Taeyong says. 

“That’s good,” Taeil says warmly, smiling as he sits back on his heels. “Put your hands in my hair, baby.” 

Taeyong obeys, laces his fingers through Taeil’s soft strands, fingernails scratching his scalp lightly. 

“Mm,” Taeil says, and he looks like a cat, stretching in the sun. “You want me?” 

“Yes,” he answers, only just breathing it out. 

“Take me, then.” 

The lust explodes in Taeyong’s chest like a fucking heart attack, and he hesitates just a moment too long. Taeil moves back in, and Taeyong has to hold on as he kisses the head of Taeyong’s cock, licks at it coyly. 

“Take what you want,” Taeil says. 

So Taeyong does. 

He pulls Taeil forward by the hair gently, and Taeil yields to him, opens his mouth and sinks down onto Taeyong’s dick, soft and slick. Taeyong gently guides him, gently moves him, gently starts to thrust shallowly. But it’s too much, the feeling and the—and the look Taeil gives him when he opens his eyes, stares up at Taeyong. 

“I’m gonna come,” he breathes. 

Taeil pulls off with a wet _pop_. 

“I don’t think so,” Taeil says. “Not yet.” 

Taeyong groans, and Taeil rises back to his feet, kisses Taeyong hard. And Taeyong can taste himself in Taeil’s mouth. He’s running a fever, he thinks, he _must_ be, because he can’t calm himself down, can’t do anything but push into Taeil’s stomach, grinding absently against him as they kiss. 

They peel each other out of their clothes slowly, meanderingly, piece by piece, getting distracted with hands and mouths. Taeyong’s nearly overwhelmed by the knowledge that he can touch and taste. When they’re finally naked and he grabs Taeil by the ass, starts to pump his hips, he nearly shoots. 

When all is said and done, Taeyong is sure that he’s never seen anything more beautiful than Taeil when he lies back in Taeyong’s bed.

“Come here, baby,” he beckons, and Taeyong scrambles onto the bed, lays himself in the cradle of Taeil’s arms. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Taeyong says, and he launches forward, excitable. 

He kisses down Taeil’s body, licking at Taeil’s soft pink nipples. He sucks on them when Taeil starts to breathe shallowly, bites one and pinches the other. He looks at Taeil’s body, the subconscious movement as he grinds up and in. 

“Have you ever—” 

“No,” Taeil says. “Not...not with a guy.” 

“Okay,” Taeyong says. “Maybe we’ll just—” 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Taeil says, and God, Taeyong is lucky.  
Taeyong continues to kiss down Taeil’s body, occasionally stopping to run his hands up and down Taeil’s sides, trace along the shadows of his hip bones with his tongue. Taeil is so hard, and Taeyong’s pride surges as he listens to Taeil’s labored breathing as he makes his way down between Taeil’s legs. 

“You’re so pretty,” Taeil says, hand cupping Taeyong’s cheek. Taeyong turns into it, kisses Taeil’s palm. “Such a good boy. Sweet thing.” 

“Can I suck your cock?” Taeyong asks, licking a little circle into the center of Taeil’s hand. 

“Yes,” Taeil hisses, like the sibilant is caught between his teeth. 

Taeyong’s done this before, enough to know how to relax his throat, enough to know to watch his teeth and keep it wet. He sucks Taeil in, decides to test it out. He slowly, slowly sinks down, swallowing as much as he can. Before he knows it, his throat is open around Taeil’s length, nose brushing against the dusting of hair at the lowest part of Taeil’s abdomen. 

“H-holy shit,” Taeil says, and he clutches at Taeyong’s shoulders. “Fuck, baby, you’re—you’re so good, oh my god, you feel so fucking good.” 

Taeyong moans at the praise. More accurately, he _tries_ to moan at the praise. He ends up gagging, throat fluttering closed, and Taeil groans at the feeling. Taeyong pulls off, licks at his lips as he strokes Taeil up and down, from top to bottom. 

“Shit,” Taeil says, and a tremor runs through him as he squeezes Taeyong’s shoulder again. “Can you do it again?” 

He runs his fingers through Taeyong’s hair before stopping to play with his earlobe, scratching softly at the thin skin behind the shell of his ear. 

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “You can...you can fuck my mouth, if you want.” 

Taeil shuts his eyes like he’s searching for an internal calmness not yet accessed, and damn if Taeyong can’t relate. 

Taeyong wants to please, and he discovers how much he likes it when someone holds him by the back of the neck, thrusting in and out at their whim. It helps that it’s Taeil, and it helps even more that Taeil is a nonstop fountain of pretty words, pretty praise that make Taeyong flatten out on the bed, grinding his hips into the blankets beneath him. 

His eyes water as Taeyong works his hips, as Taeil tells him how sexy he is, how perfect he is, that he’s a good boy. That he’s _Taeil’s_ good boy.

 

It’s stupid, but it’s so fucking hot, and it’s not long before Taeyong has to get his knees back up underneath him just so he doesn’t come frotting against the comforter. 

When Taeil pulls him off, gives Taeyong the chance to breathe, Taeyong instinctively sticks his tongue out the way Taeil did. And Taeil smacks the tip of his cock against it. 

“So fucking good,” Taeil moans. “You feel so fucking good.” 

“Can we...can we come?” Taeyong asks. “Can we come together?” 

Taeil pulls him up, pulls him flat across his body until Taeyong is lying on top of him. The way they brush against each other is pure electricity, and Taeyong whines. 

“You wanna come?” Taeil whispers. 

“Yes, please,” Taeyong whimpers, and his hips work as he rolls his body along Taeil’s, reaching down between them to play with Taeil’s cock. “I wanna come with you.” 

“Have you been good?” Taeil asks. “Do you think you’ve been a good boy?” 

“Yes,” Taeyong whines. “Yes, I’ve been good.” 

“And you want me to make you come?”

“Yes,” Taeyong says, and the desperation sits hot all along his skin. 

“Okay,” Taeil says. “You’ve been so good. So good for me. You gonna do what I say?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay, sit up.” And Taeyong obliges, sits up on his knees between Taeil’s legs. “Straddle my thighs.” 

Taeyong shuts his eyes as he moves, unsure if whether the visual combined with the feeling of Taeil beneath him will be enough to bring him to orgasm. Regardless, he doesn’t take the chance, only opening his eyes once Taeil’s hands settle on his hips. 

“God,” Taeil says, and he looks Taeyong up and down, down to where their cocks rest against each other. “Look.” 

And Taeyong can’t _help_ but look, the way they bump against each other. His hips kick, drive him forward, and he frots into Taeil, the feeling bright and delicious. 

“Do it again, baby,” Taeil says, and Taeyong will always listen. 

He pushes in again, and it is no less satisfying to watch the way they both jump at the feeling, listen to the way they both moan like a harmony. Taeil brings his hands to his mouth, and when he brings them down, he presses their cocks together, his wet hands making a hole. 

“Go ahead,” Taeil says. “Be a good boy.” 

Taeyong can’t speak, the arousal too thick in his head to do much thinking, so he just fucks through Taeil’s hands, and the spit-slick grip is so fucking good that Taeyong thinks he might explode. 

“So fucking hot,” Taeil whispers, and Taeyong looks at him, watches his face as he watches them work against each other. “You’re so fucking perfect.” 

Taeyong is starting to lose it, can feel the tendrils of red hot heat in his legs and his arms and his chest, and he starts to thrust erratically, not much rhythm to it anymore. There’s no time to think about it, there’s no time to do anything but brace himself as he stumbles over into heaven, coming so hard that he gets a little dizzy. He collapses, hands on either side of Taeil’s head as he pumps his hips, drags himself through it as he watches Taeil’s face. 

“Fuck,” Taeil curses, and it’s _so_ wet between them as he comes, each second of it more beautiful than the last.  
  


⚞ ⚟

  
  
It winds, winds down. They get in the shower, the two of them. They wash each other carefully, quietly. No words, just the music of the pattering water against the tile, the occasional slick sound of their kisses.

“I think I love you,” Taeil whispers against his lips, like he’s stealing Taeyong’s words from his mouth. 

Taeyong wraps his arms around Taeil, crushes him into a hug. The water continues to fall around them, dancing like rain. 

“I think I love you too,” Taeyong says. 

It’s quiet, quiet and still. 

“How long do we have to wait until we can say we know it?” Taeil asks. 

Taeyong kisses him. Kisses him. Again and again. 

“Who said we have to wait?”

**Author's Note:**

> [taps mic] is this thing on
> 
> im sorry. anyway. whew! i started this approximately 28 hrs ago lmao. it just jumped right out of me! it's the first thing ive written for nct, so Be Kind and Rewind. i dont know what rewind is supposed to mean in this context, but just like, forget about that part, i guess. 
> 
> hope u enjoyed :') if u did, feel free to leave a kudos or if ur feeling like u want me to ascend to the astral plane, leave a comment. love u muchly ok muah muah muah BYE! 
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfsupremacist) | [my curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/wolfsupremacist)


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